


From Another Point of View

by antheiasilva



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Council - Freeform, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padme to the rescue, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, SW Big Bang, SW Big Bang 2020, how would Qui-Gon react to Obi-Wan's "death", lineage feels, rako hardeen arc, the clone wars is wearing everyone down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheiasilva/pseuds/antheiasilva
Summary: It turns out returning from the dead isn't so easy, especially when your former master is Qui-Gon Jinn.Obi-Wan faces the fallout of his undercover mission as Rako Hardeen.__“What do you meanhe doesn’t know?” Obi-Wan nearly shouted at half of the Jedi Council assembled by his bed in the healer’s ward. He scrubbed a hand over his itching, stubbly face and fought the urge to leap from the bed and yell at them as if they were a gaggle of misbehaving padawans.He looked around the room and took in the air of restless defeat, the rumpled clothing, dark eyes and was Shaak Ti fidgeting?“What haven’t you told me?”Beta: JahalielArtist: stardustgirl
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 485
Collections: Star Wars Big Bang 2020





	From Another Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my wonderful, hard-working beta Jahaliel who smoothed out much of this bumpy story.
> 
> And many thanks to stardustgirl for her amazing moodboard that captures so much of the tension and heartache of the story!
> 
> And finally thanks to Tohje who read an early version of this ages ago and helped poke Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon back into character!

“What do you mean _he doesn’t know_?” Obi-Wan nearly shouted at half of the Jedi Council assembled by his bed in the healer’s ward. He scrubbed a hand over his itching, stubbly face and fought the urge to leap from the bed and yell at them as if they were a gaggle of misbehaving padawans.

At least they had the decency to look chagrined. He had never seen Mace Windu and Yoda share a look so laden with regret. Even Ki Adi Mundi’s eyes were downcast.

He drew in a slow breath. “Why _not_?” he breathed through clenched teeth.

A heavy silence descended, and in the end it was Plo who spoke.

“As you know, there has been much activity the last few days. The threat to the Chancellor…”

“Yes. I know. I was _there_ ,” Obi-Wan said icily. “A simple comm…” he swallowed the rest of his words, lest he say something he would regret. He would conduct himself as a Jedi, even if his colleagues’ behaviour left much to be desired. The bedsheets beneath his shaking hands bore the brunt of his agitation as he dug his fingers into the pale cloth and twisted.

“It is... complicated, Obi-Wan,” Plo continued. A note of pleading weighed down his intonation of Obi-Wan’s first name, the use of which was unusual in and of itself. Something was wrong.

He looked around the room and took in the air of restless defeat, the rumpled clothing, dark eyes and was Shaak Ti fidgeting?

“What haven’t you told me?” he asked.

Plo sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath his russet robes. “Perhaps it would be better coming from Master Skywalker.”

“Perhaps what would be better?” His heart was pounding in alarm. He would know, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. He would know if Qui-Gon were dead.

“Rest easy, Obi-Wan. He is alive,” Mace said carefully, placing an ever-so-slightly trembling hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“I am not a youngling. Do not coddle me, Mace,” Obi-Wan snapped, twisting out of Mace’s grip and drawing on the Force as he stood up to look the taller man in the eyes. Despite his undoubtedly haggard appearance and near crippling exhaustion, something in his face sent a look of alarm flickering across Mace’s smooth features. The Head of the Order blinked and took a half-step backwards Obi-Wan drew himself up to his full height and stared at him for a full breath before commanding him, “Tell me.”

***

Ahsoka had never, ever, seen Master Kenobi like this. Normally he was the calm one, the quiet one. He made jokes in the middle of blaster fire, while a ship was crashing, as he slipped unconscious.

He was not joking now.

The silence from the back of the speeder was deafening, and Ahsoka squirmed under the weight of the tension. She had seen Skyguy’s anger plenty of times. At first it had been disturbing, as most Jedi were fairly even tempered even under harrowing circumstances. Anakin was different. When Anakin felt things, it showed more often than not, much to Master Kenobi’s irritation. But her master’s anger was somewhat predictable, like storm patterns. Even when he force-choked the bartender on Nal Hutta, she knew he was being loud and dramatic to scare the man into compliance. He had bluster, to be sure, but she trusted him to not lose control. He would never hurt her, anyway. Not that Master Kenobi would either, but his anger was something else. Subterranean, like tectonic plates colliding. There was so much power there, and so tightly controlled. She found herself remembering the security feed of the Theed palace that Anakin had shown her once, years ago, when she’d asked about Maul. It had been hard to reconcile the Master Obi-Wan she knew, with his kind eyes and soft voice, with the warrior of terrifying speed and ruthless violence in the vid. But she could now. The Force practically crackled around him, and when she thought of the way he had looked through the council members in the hangar, she felt physically cold.

“You alright, Snips?” Anakin asked quietly. No doubt he could sense her discomfort rippling in the Force.

She felt her face crumple in confusion. She blinked and sighed, trying to release her unease.

“I know, Snips. I know,” Anakin said, his voice pitched low to comfort her as he patted her knee. “He gets like this sometimes.”

“He _does_?” she gasped, incredulous. Even on the battlefield, she’d never seen Obi-Wan’s eyes so sharp or the set of his jaw so rigid.

“Not often. But I’ve seen it. He’ll be okay.”

“When?”

“Oh, you know, sometimes.” He shrugged.

“Master?”

“ Look, I gave him a pretty hard time when I was a padawan. Sometimes, I said some pretty unfair things. Things were… kind of a mess back then, after Master Qui-Gon almost died.”

“Like what?” She couldn’t imagine what Anakin could say to provoke anything like this.

Anakin shook his head. “It’s in the past, Snips.”

“I understand,” she said, even though she didn’t.

Anakin huffed. “It’s okay that you don’t. Sometimes I don’t either. Those years were...difficult.” The regret in his voice was heavy, an almost tangible thing.

“I think... I’m surprised because, well, surely, Master Qui-Gon… I mean, I can sort of see _why_ he... None of us knew Master Obi-Wan was alive.” She squashed the memories of the horror that had rippled through her when she’d leaned over her grandmaster’s body and felt the lack of pulse, and the grief and hurt that had hovered over those weeks when he’d been “dead.”

Anakin’s jaw clenched and he gripped the controls of the speeder more tightly. She knew he’d been hurt and angry and still was. Anakin had yelled at Master Obi-Wan, and her grandmaster had stood expressionless, grey eyes distant until Anakin had finished, after which he’d uttered a quiet "I'm sorry," and turned away. Later, Obi-Wan had taken Ahsoka aside and gripped her in a vice-like hug and looked her in the eyes, brows furrowed, and said "You know I had no choice, young one?" She had swallowed her questions, and simply nodded. But that was at least a week ago now. When she considered that Master Qui-Gon had had to go on believing Obi-Wan was dead, her stomach churned. Duty and security and the greater good aside, it seemed cruel.

“I don’t think he’s angry at Master Qui-Gon,” Anakin ventured, as the grey buildings and multicoloured lights of Coruscant’s Senate district swished past them.

“No?” Ahsoka was skeptical. Master Kenobi’s energy hadn’t shifted in the slightest since they left the Temple.

“It’s the Council. It has to be. I think. They went too far."

"But Master Obi-Wan is on the Council…"

"He's only one vote, Snips. You try saying no to Master Yoda sometime."

She shuddered. Now that was a scary thought. But she was still a padawan. Surely it would be different for Master Obi-Wan.

"Duty comes first for us all, padawan. _Personal feelings_ are irrelevant," Obi-Wan’s steely voice carried from the back of the speeder.

Anakin started in his seat. “Master?” he asked, twisting around to face Obi-Wan.

Could that be why Obi-Wan was so upset with Master Qui-Gon? Because he let his feelings about Obi-Wan affect his duty?

“Just drive, Anakin. Let’s get this over with." Obi-Wan sounded dismissive, like he was trying too hard to be detached, and Ahsoka could swear she felt a flare of guilt amidst the swirl of anger and disappointment.

***

Ahsoka almost felt sorry for Master Qui-Gon. Even hollow eyed and pale, Master Obi-Wan was an intimidating figure, striding down the soft lit hallways of the senatorial apartment building, robe flaring as he glowered at the lush carpet. They arrived in front of the ornate door and Obi-Wan was about to hit the door chime, when Anakin clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Master, why don’t you let me?” Anakin said, voice low, like he was soothing a skittish bantha.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth and took a long breath, closed his eyes and nodded, stepping back.

Anakin pressed the door chime and stepped in front of Obi-Wan. Senator Amidala—Padme—never one to stand on ceremony, opened the door herself a few moments later.

“Ani! —ahh—Master Skywalker. Ahsoka! Please come in. What brings you here?” She stepped aside and began to wave them in, when she froze and gasped. “Obi-Wan?!” She gave a choked cry before throwing her arms around him.

Ahsoka watched Obi-Wan’s icy exterior melt incrementally as he returned Padme’s hug with a stilted pat on her back. Anakin shifted beside her and exhaled harshly, as if he were annoyed or…. Jealous? She looked up at her master’s face and saw a shadow flicker across his features.

“Senator Amidala—Padme,” Obi-Wan said with a warmer tone and a tenor of familiar gravity as he disentangled himself from her embrace. “Is he here?”

“Of course!” she said, shaking her head as she worked out whom Obi-Wan meant, and no doubt filed away myriad questions. “This way. Please. You know what these apartments are like, you can house several families at once! His rooms are this way.”

She led them through the atrium, past the reception room and offices, to the residential area of the suite.

After several twists and turns, they rounded a final corner into a small atrium. Down one of the hallways, Qui-Gon was speaking to a young attaché over a datapad outside the door to his quarters. The young woman was listening intently and nodding as she received his instructions.

It was the first time Ahsoka had seen her great-grandmaster since Obi-Wan’s funeral. He wore dark green robes of rough silk that looked like Bail Organa’s—in fact, there was a good chance they were, being slightly baggy on Qui-Gon and short at the wrists. His hair was longer, and gathered in a loose braid down his back. As they approached, he looked, well, in a word, _old_. Her heart clenched in worry and regret. Despite his steady, businesslike tone and sharp focus, Master Qui-Gon was suffering. Anyone could see it. She felt a flare of her own anger at the Council, the chancellor, even master Obi-Wan for putting them all through this.

Anakin’s hand was on her shoulder in an instant, comforting and restraining all at once. Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

At the sight of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks and drew in a sharp breath. The breaking of Obi-Wan’s anger was like great sheets of ice cracking, a piece of a glacier falling away along a fault line. The feeling in the Force was like snapping whiplash upon crash landing. It felt the way the explosion of an ion grenade sounded. A kind of despairing agony flashed in the Force, lanced through Ahsoka like a puncture wound under her heart. She shuddered and gasped, but the pain was gone as quickly as it appeared. Master Obi-Wan’s shields were formidable.

Across the room, Qui-Gon’s gaze snapped up.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon breathed, eyes wide in wonder as he released the datapad into the aide’s hands. He took a step forward and stopped. A falling-sinking sensation of overwhelmed her for a moment, but Qui-Gon didn’t falter. He just stood there, shock and disbelief radiating in Force, until his own shields recovered.

Obi-Wan met his eyes but didn’t move any closer. The ten feet between them pulsed and crackled in the Force.

Ahsoka held her breath. She saw Anakin cast Padme a glance that looked a lot like “help!” The elegant senator crossed the space without any hesitation to wave away the confused aide, and then put a hand on Qui-Gon’s forearm.

“Qui-Gon,” Padme said in a tone that commanded attention, but lacked any sharpness. Qui-Gon looked down immediately, first at her hand and then directly at Padme. “I have questions and I’m sure you do too. Come. Let’s hear what Obi-Wan has to say.”

Qui-Gon drew in a long breath through his nose, paused, blinked and then nodded. “Yes,” he said softly, voice rough. He turned and hit the door controls to his quarters. “Come in,” he said to the floor as he walked in. Padme stood in the entranceway and beckoned them inside.

Anakin crossed the floor quickly, turning back in surprise when Obi-Wan didn’t follow. Ahsoka had started to follow Anakin and then walked back to her grandmaster’s side.

“Master Obi-Wan?” she asked, brows furrowed. He was standing, staring at the door with a blank look on his face.

“Master?” she asked again, resisting a strange urge to take his hand, as if he were a youngling.

He blinked and looked down at her as if he was surprised she was there. “Yes, young one. I’m coming.”

-

Obi-Wan stood inside the doorway, taking in the room as if he were surveying an alien landscape after a crash landing. He rubbed at his rough chin and quelled a sinking sense of dread—and an absurd pang of regret about his lack of hair and beard. It wasn’t bad enough the world was upside down, he had to be naked as well.

Qui-Gon’s quarters were minimalist by Nubian standards, but positively ornate by Jedi ones. The suite was evidently meant as guest quarters for visiting dignitaries, with holo-images and decorative vases placed strategically throughout the airy common area. Two large plush couches were arranged facing each other in the centre of the room, a low table of chrome and glass between them. Nothing looked like Qui-Gon had touched it at all, except for a dark wooden desk under a bank of windows that had been repurposed as a shelf for plants. The space bespoke temporariness and transience, and Obi-Wan released a breath in relief. Perhaps he could make Qui-Gon see reason.

Anakin and Ahsoka settled themselves nervously on one of the couches. Ahsoka’s eyes darted around the room, surveying it like a battlefield. Anakin seemed anxious and distracted at the same time. His eyes had been following Padme—as they always did. Obi-Wan suppressed a flare of irritation.

The young senator was hidden from view at the moment, having disappeared into the small kitchenette with Qui-Gon, who was almost certainly making tea. As if this were a regular social call and Obi-Wan hadn’t just returned from the dead.

Qui-Gon was shielding intensely. Aside from the initial moment of shock, Obi-Wan couldn’t pick up anything from his former master. He took a deep breath and instead of releasing it, he held it as he shifted his weight and arranged his arms behind him in parade rest.

He heard a clatter and Padme saying “Let me” and Qui-Gon answering in his low baritone, too soft to make out. When had Qui-Gon and Padme had become so close? Mace had said three weeks, four at most since Qui-Gon had—

Force, he couldn’t even think it.

He was standing in Qui-Gon’s apartment in the senate district, where he’d been living long enough to have a small colony of plants and be comfortable in the kitchen with Padme, and Obi-Wan still couldn’t think it.

“Master?” Anakin’s voice rescued him from further contemplation.

“Hmm?”

“You’re pacing. Why don’t you sit down?”

Obi-Wan blinked and looked around. So he was. He swallowed and moved towards the couch but couldn’t bring himself to sit. The tension was getting thicker and thicker, stealing his breath. He felt a buzzing in his chest and hands.

Force what was taking Qui-Gon so long? They didn’t need _tea_!

 _Patience_ , he admonished himself.

"This is ridiculous!" Anakin blurted, bouncing to his feet. "Qui-Gon, tea isn't going to help. Just come out here and talk to Obi-Wan. He's already been through hell and he's still come to apologize."

Qui-Gon emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cups and a teapot, steam rising from its spout. Padme followed a half-step behind him. "Has he?" Qui-Gon asked. "Is that what this is?"

The hurt in Qui-Gon’s eyes burned Obi-Wan’s skin like a lightsaber.

"Such an elaborate ruse would require nothing less than your full participation, I imagine.” Qui-Gon’s tone was steady, measured, except for a quiet edge, growing sharper and sharper on the whetstone of understanding. “You are to be commended on your performance.”

Obi-Wan met his eyes, but said nothing. He could not counter the coming blow.

Qui-Gon set the tray on the table with a faint clatter and straightened.

“The funeral was a nice touch.”

Obi-Wan felt the words like a saber to his gut. He looked down at the mottled grey carpet and counted specks until his breath slowed. He could not lie to himself. Facing Qui-Gon was worse than he ever could have imagined. He found himself grateful that consciousness dissolved into the Force after death, because he never, ever wanted to see that kind of pain on anyone he lov—cared for—ever again.

"It wasn't his fault! The Chancellor was in danger. He didn't have a choice!" Anakin blurted.

"We always have choices, Anakin,” Qui-Gon intoned.“Obi-Wan knows that. He also knows that our actions are not measured by our intentions but by our impacts."

Obi-Wan’s flinch was quickly followed by rising indignation. Qui-Gon didn’t understand the position the Council and the Chancellor had put him in. And he could do without Qui-Gon’s fucking _teaching_ tone.

"Well he intended to save the chancellor and he did, so—"

"All of the impacts," Qui-Gon replied, setting his jaw. He made a motion with his hands as if to fold his hands into the sleeves of his robe, except he had no robe. Obi-Wan smothered a pang.

"You don't understand!" Anakin protested.

Qui-Gon’s brows lifted. He gave Anakin the same look of censure that Obi-Wan remembered from his padawan days: _Watch yourself, my young apprentice, you are standing on the line_. Qui-Gon cast a worried glace at Ahsoka, who was staring wide-eyed at the unfolding confrontation like she was restraining herself from jumping in and wanting to sink into the floor at the same time.

"Anakin, that's enough!" Obi-Wan snapped, his patience finally breaking. Leave it to Anakin to make a hard thing _harder_. Why couldn’t Anakin learn some control?

"Well then you say something!" Anakin shouted back at him, throwing his hands up and stomping to the window.

“We will talk about this later,” Obi-Wan said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, _you’ll try_ ,” Anakin growled, crossing his arms and turning to stare out the window.

The headache that had been forming behind Obi-Wan’s eyes was shifting from an ache to stab. He gripped his temples with the thumb and index finger of his left hand, while his right hand brushed his lightsaber in a vain effort to steady himself. He could feel himself cracking, squeezed between the anger and guilt inside him and Qui-Gon’s fucking _judgement_.

Of course it was going to be a fight with them. Even grey and wilted and wearing grief like a cloak, Qui-Gon’s will was like iron, and apparently being _right_ was more important to Qui-Gon than understanding whatever Obi-Wan had to say. _What else is new?_ he thought darkly. This should not surprise him, and yet it did and it hurt.

Obi-Wan drew in a long breath and squared his shoulders. If Qui-Gon wanted to be right, _fine_ , he could give him that. He could face the impact of his actions and take accountability, and perhaps then they could talk about Qui-Gon’s actions.

"In a sense Anakin is correct. I have come to apologize for the deception and whatever harm it may have caused you."

His voice sounded… stolid, empty, even to his own ears.

He was using his diplomatic voice, on Qui-Gon, when he wanted to...what? Confess? Cry? Hug him? Be told everything would be all right, like he was some kind of scared crecheling? _Aren't you at all glad to see me?"_ a small part of him cried, but he squished it mercilessly. It was childish and unbecoming.

Qui-Gon laughed, and it was a harsh and grating sound. "Whatever harm you may have caused me? Force, Obi-Wan." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Spare me the General. You are better than this."

Obi-Wan felt a flash of rage so strong it whited out his vision. He was too fucking old and too fucking experienced to be patronized by Qui-Gon like this. Not after….not after everything he’d borne in the last two years in the name of the Republic, the Order, the Council.

"I did what I had to," Obi-Wan ground out.

"You did what you were told," Qui-Gon snapped, eyes flashing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s words like a slap across the face, and stepped back.

"Is that what you think? That after all this time, I still can’t think for myself? Have you ever considered the possibility that you, Qui-Gon Jinn, don’t actually know _everything_ or that, Force fucking forbid, there are other points of view?" Obi-Wan was aware he was shouting now, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Have you ever considered that you are _reckless_ , hurtling yourself forward—out of proverbial and _literal windows_ —under the guise of 'duty,’ without a thought for yourself or the people you leave behind? That something else might be possible if you stopped rushing ahead,” Qui-Gon growled, pointing at Obi-Wan as he strode just shy of the coffee table.

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was absolutely the least reckless person, not just in their lineage, but in this _room_ no less. Padme was no stranger to risk. Between Qui-Gon and Anakin, and now Ahsoka, he spent his life trying to be a counterweight to other people’s recklessness.

He drew in a long breath and stalked forward until only the width of the low table stood between them. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Oh, do you want to talk about rushing ahead? Shall we talk about _leaving_ Master Jinn? How about leaving people behind in the name of _duty_?”

Qui-Gon flinched at the sneer in Obi-Wan’s tone. “Obi-Wan,” he whispered, “that was thirteen years ago.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped and he felt his skin start to burn with embarrassment. This wasn’t about their fight with Maul. “I’m not talking about that!,” he insisted. “I’m talking about you abandoning your grand-padawans, Anakin and Ahsoka, in the middle of a war! You have responsibilities, Qui-Gon. You don’t just get to walk away."

“I’m not the one who abandoned them, in the name of _duty_ , no less," Qui-Gon shot back, nostrils flaring.

“Abandoned them, or abandoned you?” Obi-Wan snapped.

“I should ask you the same.”

A stalemate of silence descended as they glared at each other across the low table. Qui-Gon’s blue eyes were implacable and hard. Curse Qui-Gon Jinn and his infamous stubbornness.

"At least I’m trying to apologize,” Obi-Wan ground out.

“That’s not an apology, that’s a press release,” Qui-Gon scowled.

The disgust in Qui-Gon’s voice was like a final drop of water in a vessel already strained to breaking point. The stabbing pain in Obi-Wan’s head spiked and the sense of squeezing pressure became unbearable. He couldn’t win. He did what the Order demanded of him, and he hurt—no, betrayed—everyone who was dear to him. What kind of regret could he even offer when he hadn’t had a choice? He was tired of feeling trapped, tired of Qui-Gon's anger and judgement, tired of fighting. Everything about this was just wrong and he hated that he couldn't fix it, or stop it, or even kriffing _breathe_.

“What do you _want_ from me, Qui-Gon!?” Obi-Wan cried, flinging his arms wide in a desperate plea and to his horror the glass table between them shattered with a shrieking crash.

Ahsoka jerked backwards on the couch. Anakin darted forward to Qui-Gon’s side. Padme flinched.

Qui-Gon froze. “I—I don’t know,” he breathed, staring through Obi-Wan. His eyes softened. He looked down at his hands. “I…You don’t know what it was like,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan drew in a shaky breath, recalling the interminable months Qui-Gon had lain in a coma on Naboo. With a voice full of sadness, he answered. “Yes, I do.”

When Qui-Gon looked up, his eyes were full of tears. “All the lights in the galaxy went out at once. And there was only grey.”

“I remember,” Obi-Wan said, heart twisting, and then he did remember, viscerally, the crushing sadness, the hopelessness that had nearly overwhelmed him, how he had had to fight for any sense of air or sunlight by narrowing his world to nothing but training Anakin and the blessed relief that flooded through him every time he stepped on a ship headed offworld. Was that why Qui-Gon had left the Order? To find refuge in being useful somewhere away from the constant reminders of what he had lost? Obi-Wan realized then that he’d been so focussed on duty, on Anakin and Ahsoka and the war, since his return to the world of the living that he hadn’t really considered _why_ Qui-Gon had walked away.

Qui-Gon bowed his head, answering his unspoken question. “There was little left for me there, Obi-Wan. The Order has strayed from its path, and now that I can see how far….” He stopped, voice breaking, and reached across the wreckage to brush Obi-Wan’s face with trembling fingers. “Padawan?” he breathed.

Now Obi-Wan could see deep lines on Qui-Gon’s brow, crows feet at his eyes. His hands were the rough, wrinkled hands of age, not the strong hands Obi-Wan remembered. The Force whispered of a life-draining grief that slowed and silenced and withered. He realized then how foolish and short-sighted he had been. He had failed to account for love, and why it was so forbidden, even though it was part of the Light. With its phenomenal power to join, to build, to create, came an equal power to break, in this case, from the inside out.

For there was no mistaking it, despite his efforts to hide and deflect, the loss of Obi-Wan had broken something in Qui-Gon Jinn, no longer a Master, no longer a Jedi.

“Is it really you?” Qui-Gon asked, wisps of hope hovering around each word as he stepped around the remains of the broken table.

Obi-Wan turned to face his master, throat tight, eyes stinging. Guilt threatened to suffocate him. “It is,” he choked.

And then Obi-Wan found himself enveloped in a crushing embrace of green silk. Qui-Gon’s tears were hot against his bare scalp. There was something comforting here that he wasn’t quite sure he deserved. He stood stiffly in Qui-Gon’s arms, still frozen in his own pain.

Qui-Gon squeezed him tighter and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. Through the Force, he could feel his master’s relief and joy and love so intense and profound it was almost painful. It should have surprised him, or unnerved him, but instead he found the last of his reserve melting away. He sank into the feelings, letting them wash away the shreds of guilt and fear and the abject misery had been consuming him since he had heard the Council’s plan months ago.

He wound his arms around Qui-Gon, pressed his face into the soft hollow of Qui-Gon’s neck and finally let himself weep in remorse and sorrow for them both.

Far away, he heard Padme’s voice gently command, “Come. Both of you,” followed by a grunt of protest, soft footsteps and the quiet swish of the door.


End file.
